Fold Your Wings
by dreamsoflove311
Summary: "She was looking at him that way she sometimes did, like she could read him as easily as he could read anyone."   Future fic with a focus on Jane and Lisbon
1. I'm Not The Enemy

**A/N: Okay so, fair warning, this story is going to be extra fluffy... I've never really written something this fluffy for The Mentalist before so we'll see how it goes. This is a future fic that jumps in time with each chapter so it spans the length of a year. It won't be super long, probably about five chapters and I'll post maybe once a week. Hope you enjoy it!**

"_I know the cost _

_Of what's been lost_

_I won't turn away_

_The choice is made_

_I'm not afraid_

_Do what you will_

_Go for the kill_

_I lay my armor down"_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2012<strong>_  
><em>

"Alright...everyone's clear on their assignments...we're on the road in five. S.W.A.T. will be in position when we arrive."

Her words scattered agents left and right. Jane eyed her. She turned to look as her team ranged around her, all of them stoic and serious. "Okay guys, we only have one shot here. I don't think I have to tell you what's at stake."

"We're ready, boss." Van Pelt's voice was hard. Cho and Rigsby nodded their agreement.

"Okay. Let's go."

He followed them down the stairs and out to the parking lot where agents from every conceivable organization darted from vehicle to vehicle, donning vests and collecting guns. He snagged her wrist before she got to the car.

"Lisbon, wait." She rounded on him, eyes wide with surprise.

"Wait? Jane, we don't have time to wait-you of all people know that. I'm surprised you didn't take off right when we figured it out...wait...why didn't you take off, try to beat us there, take him on by yourself? If you're planning something-"

"This is never going to work." He cut her off at the pass. He had things she needed to know, things he needed to say.

"What? Jane, you don't know that."

"Of course I do."

"Jane-"

"Oh, come on, Lisbon! You think it's this easy? We waltz in on him unawares...please. He's waiting for us. More to the point, he's waiting for you." She blinked at him for a moment, completely still amidst the agents swarming all around them in the parking lot.

"Me? Why me? This is about you. It's always about you when it comes to Red John." He was shaking his head even as she spoke.

"Not today. Think, Lisbon! Why would he kill me? What would that accomplish? Why kill me when he can break me instead?"

"Break you-"

"And I would break, Lisbon, if he killed you."

"Jane-"

"He's going to go after you because it's his best way of striking out at me. A demonstration of his power over me, another nail in the coffin." She was gaping at him now. "Look, Lisbon, I'm telling you this because I need you to do something for me. When he comes after you-and he _will_ come after you-I need you to take the shot."

"Take the..." Her voice trailed off into a silence that was thick with surprise.

"If you get the chance, take the shot, Lisbon. A jail will never hold him-not with his connections." She was shaking her head, still looking dazed. He needed to make her understand. He stepped forward, gripping her shoulder urgently, invading her space. "This isn't about me, Lisbon. It's not about my revenge, or my desire to see Red John dead. It is about my desire to keep you alive. To keep him from hurting you. Please. If you can...take the shot."

She was looking at him that way she sometimes did, like she could read him as easily as he could read anyone. Her voice was tentative when she spoke.

"If I kill him...you won't be able to."

He stared hard into her eyes.

"I know."


	2. Goodbye

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/subscribed. You guys rock! :) This chapter takes place very shortly after the events in the first chapter...hope you enjoy! Oh, and because I forgot to mention it in the 1st chapter... I own nothing :)**

"_I'm not afraid of stopping, this end could be my start._

_I wanna live a life and not just play a part._

_Goodbye, there's no more magic up my sleeve_

_Empty lies are in the past_

_ I've tried before but here's the last goodbye."_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2012<strong>

She reached the end of the patio and deposited her shoes on the sun-warmed brick next to his. For a moment she stood, bare toes curled around the edge of the step, simply taking in the view. Whitewashed sand and sparkling blue spanning the horizon.

He always seemed so grand to her, larger than life...but here he sat, arms wrapped around his bent knees, a dark spot on the pale sand. He looked so small, so human in contrast to the vast water spread before him.

She teetered on the edge, rocking from the balls of her feet to her heels, arms folded tightly across her chest, unsure whether her appearance here in Malibu would be welcome. She'd followed his instructions yesterday to the letter, done what he'd told her to do; she'd taken the shot, and she was afraid. Afraid now that it was over and done, maybe he'd regret it. He might resent her for it. She didn't want to see that in his eyes when he looked at her, couldn't stand the possibility that her part in the death of Red John might cause him pain.

She lifted her chin and stepped off the patio; she'd never know how he felt about everything if she didn't approach him. She walked with slow and measured steps towards the place where he sat. Her bare feet depressed the sand and it fell to encase her toes with each step, like it was holding her back. But the wind was blowing from behind, pushing her forward, swirling her hair around her face. She stopped just behind his right shoulder and stared down at where her pants dragged across the sand. He was wearing neither jacket nor vest, and his shirt stretched tight along his shoulder blades, the material a few shades lighter than the water spread before them.

They were a frozen tableau against the horizon of sun and sea for unknown minutes, silently looking out over the water.

"I came here to say goodbye."

She looked down at his golden windswept hair, swallowing painfully around the lump his words had lodged in her throat.

"I'm sorry." It was all she said. She wasn't sure what else there was _to _say. She took a step closer to his seated form, close enough that her pant leg brushed the back of his arm. She was there for him...she wanted him to know. He shifted slightly and curled his arm around her leg, fingers wrapping around her shin, holding onto her like a little boy. He knew. Her fingers reached to graze his hair, and he leaned his head against her thigh.

"It's strange," His voice was thready to her ears, scattered by the wind. "I've kept my promise...well, you kept it for me, really..." A small huff; sardonic laughter. Her fingers tightened in his hair. "It's all over now. What will I do? Where will I go?" A pause. A breath. "Who will I be?"

It was the most revealing thing she'd ever heard him say, even more so than when he'd told her of Sophie Miller and locked rooms. He'd always been defined by something. For the past ten years he'd been defined by Red John...that was over now, and he was lost.

"You get to be you. You get to figure out who you are now." Her fingers loosened and she stroked them through the golden strands. "Not the Boy Wonder, not the Psychic, not the Consultant. Just you. Patrick." It was the first time she'd called him by his given name with any degree of seriousness. He tilted his head back to look up at her, eyes bright, but not overflowing.

"Will you help me, Teresa?"

Her own eyes filled, and a corner of her mouth twitched up in a strange combination of relief and surprise.

"Yes."

He smiled.


	3. You Make My Wishes

**A/N: PLEASE NOTE the time change! The last chapter took place in May, it is now November, it's been six months. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)**

"_Cause you make me feel..._

_You make me feel wild_

_You touch my inner smile"_

* * *

><p><strong>November 2012<strong>

He was laughing. Carefree and infectious. Real.

The rich golden sound echoed from the bullpen, mingling with the laughter of her team—even Cho was chuckling. She understood. These days, when Jane smiled or laughed, it was damn near impossible not to reciprocate. It had taken her a good two months to be able to yell at him properly. It was less than effective when the simple curve of his lips derailed her anger...when she lost the thread of her rants, hard features and angry words contorting into dimples and laughter. She could control it better now—faced with those blue-green eyes and pearly white teeth-she could keep a straight face...mostly. She knew her eyes were still laughing with him, but really, she couldn't help it. If Jane could coax a smile out of Cho more days than not, she didn't stand a chance.

He'd always been too charming for his own good and the sanity of everyone around him. She'd always thought he should need a license for that smile of his. It was dangerous. Its effects were more deadly than any gun. But now, _now..._that quirk of his lips almost brought her to her knees—and she was Supervisory Special Agent Teresa Lisbon_—_she _worked _at being immune to him. God help anyone _else_ he unleashed it on.

It had been gradual, this change in him. Slow and painstaking. Moving on was like that. But out of the ashes Red John had made of his life, a new man emerged. A little bit sorrowful, slightly shadowed, and not just a little bit jaded, but peaceful...whole. Oh, he still had cracks and jagged edges—that's what happens when a person shatters and then pieces themselves back together, after all.

She'd always had trouble picturing what he would be like post Red John, and some days she was convinced it was all her imagination. He'd look at her with those ocean eyes—free of shadows and secrets, yet still full of mischief and alight with chaos—and she'd feel like pinching herself awake. The careworn yet casual beauty he exuded simply could not be real. But it was. She'd seen his transformation with her own eyes, the painfully slow shift from torment to contentment.

She'd borne witness to the evolution of those wide and blindingly insincere smiles full of sparkling teeth and crinkled eyes...contrived, false, dishonest...a predator smiling at his prey. Those masking smiles were no more. Now there was solace, joy—an open, unforced laugh, dimples creasing underneath clear blue-green. Honest, happy...breathtaking.

He caught her eyes from across the bullpen where she leaned against an unused desk, indulgently eyeing her team who were decidedly _not _working like they were supposed to be. His grin widened.

She clenched her jaw. She compressed her lips. She ground her teeth...it was a losing battle. She could feel the rebellion of her quirking lips. In one last valiant effort, she sunk her teeth into her lower lip. Jane arched an eyebrow and she broke; her own dimples creased her cheeks. She smiled back at him with everything in her.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her from her peripheral position, inviting her to join in their inappropriate-for-work-time merriment. Her heart tugged in her chest, following his summons without her conscious permission. She followed the tug, walking forward to stand at his side, smiling all the way.


	4. In Your Ocean I'm Ankle Deep

**A/N: This takes place 4 months after the previous chapter! Enjoy! :)**

"_This is my desire_

_Consume me like a fire_

_'Cause I just want _

_Something beautiful_

_To touch me"_

* * *

><p><strong>March 2013<strong>

Supine on the couch he smiled without opening his eyes. He could hear her out in the bullpen demanding information on his whereabouts from her team. The past few months he'd spent all of his time on the worn brown leather of his couch, forsaking his attic hideaway for the company of the team-his friends. He was trying something new today. Her couch. Snuggling deeper into the cushions he acknowledged to himself that she might be angry when she found him here-annoyed about wasting time searching for him when he'd been in her office all along. He hoped so anyway...she was adorable when she was angry.

He'd napped on her couch before, of course-he was the one who'd bought it for her after all, he knew how comfortable it was-but he was thinking he might want to relocate permanently. Something about being around her recently was having a lovely calming effect on him. Whenever she was near, he had this feeling he couldn't quite place. Warm, familiar, soothing... He wasn't sure how to classify it, what to call it, and figured until he discovered what it was, he'd stay close to her. It kind of felt like everything that was good and pure about her was extending itself to him, wrapping around him in bright tendrils that burned-branding him with their essence. He liked the feeling...whatever it was.

Her quick distinctive footsteps alerted him to her arrival, followed seconds later by her exasperated voice.

"Jane, there you are, I've been looking everywhere for you. I need your take on the MacKenzie case...what are you doing in my office?" He curved a hand around the edge of the couch, rolling to his side, propping up on an elbow, facing her with curved lips and dancing eyes.

"You already know my conclusions about the MacKenzie case; it was the mother-in-law." She sighed and plopped down in front of him onto the coffee table, knee brushing his fingers on the edge of the couch. He stared at the point of contact while she spoke.

"Just because the mother-in-law has 'empty eyes'-according to you-does not make her a viable suspect to us. You need to give me more than that, Jane."

"Have the team look into her alibi...it's fabricated." His voice was soft, preoccupied. The feeling, he'd just discovered, was stronger with proximity and contact. He felt it...so close...on the tip of his tongue...

"You think the alibi's false?"

He looked up to her eyes, vivid green; they were always brighter with the thrill of the chase. Bright and spicy, just like her. Cinnamon, spice, and everything nice...that was his Lisbon. Well, maybe not _nice_, per say. She was actually kind of ferocious.

"I know it is." His eyes drifted back down to where her knee brushed his knuckles. He moved his fingers up until just their tips touched her knee, and then farther, inching them until they rested on her thigh, his palm now cupping the curve of her knee. Dragged them slowly, pressing upwards until his whole hand splayed across her thigh. His eyes crinkled when he noticed that his fingers spanned the width of her leg. She was so deceptively small, her diminutive size dwarfed by the force of her personality, her verve.

"Jane...?" Her voice was high and tight-a little breathless. His fingers clasped, lightly squeezing into her leg against the barrier of her slacks. She sucked in a ragged breath, voice trailing into silence.

He lifted his eyes to her face; her cheeks were pink and she was staring at his hand on her thigh.

"Yes, Lisbon?" She was so...well, pretty-for lack of a better word-when she was flustered this way.

"Umm...what-" She cleared her throat. "What are you...?"

"I'd like to commandeer your couch for a while. I enjoy your company." He pulled his hand away slowly, dragging it back down and off her leg. His skin missed the warmth of her...what _was _that feeling?

"Oh, uh, okay." She fled to the safety of her desk, sitting down and shuffling papers aimlessly, pink cheeks and bright green eyes. Pretty wasn't quite the right word for her, he decided. She was really very beautiful. Everything about her-her compassion, her determination, her wit, her loyalty, even her anger. It was all beautiful.

The feeling was stronger than ever as he watched her at her desk. He let it flow over him for a moment, trying to place it, trying to pinpoint what she felt like to him...it remained elusive.

"You don't mind if I stay here, do you, Lisbon?" He wasn't going to leave either way-he knew she knew that as well as he did-but he figured he might as well ask. Also, he wanted her to look at him again. She did, a small smile playing at her lips.

"You can stay, I don't mind. Make yourself at home."

Home. The feeling slammed into him. Warm, familiar, safe, happy...home. That was it.

She felt like home.

He settled back into the cushions, a grin quirking his lips, and breathed out on a quiet sigh,

"I am home."


	5. She's So Still

**A/N****: Okay, this chapter is going up today in honor of last night's episode. Seriously...who loved 4x10? Because I totally did!**

"_She's walking up to him so slowly_

_It's about time,_

_It's about time to fly away_

_But wait-_

_This one is different 'cause he's lonely."_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2013<strong>

She leaned against the counter in the break room, facing the sink, back turned towards the empty bullpen. She was here earlier than everyone else. Again. She clutched her coffee mug in both hands, held it hovering under her nose, inhaling the scent, bottom lip resting on the edge of the warm ceramic. She so enjoyed these moments of quiet solitude before the flood of agents arrived. It was so tranquil and—

A hand touched the small of her back and a warm voice permeated the stillness.

"One day I'll manage to convert you to tea, mark my words."

His presence registered slowly, trickling down the back of her neck, sliding down her spine, shivering through her limbs. _Jane._ She let out a belated gasp of surprise and her mug slipped through tingling fingers. It clattered to the bottom of the sink, the splattering coffee caught against it's curved sides. She stared down at it detachedly, he was so _close. _He stepped closer.

"Well, well, look at that. It seems I've made more progress than expected." His voice was low, dark, rich. It sounded more delicious than the coffee she'd just witlessly spilled in the sink.

Oh, good god. She did _not _just think that. Obviously she was still startled from his sudden appearance, and he was still so close_—_chest against her shoulder, hand lingering at her back, hip pressed into hers... He reached around her to turn on the faucet, letting the tea kettle in his hand fill with water. She needed to move. Or say something.

He ducked down slightly to gauge the amount of water and his hair brushed her cheek. She _really_ needed to move. But she didn't.

"Oh please, Jane. Like that would ever happen." He turned his head to watch her as she spoke and she could feel his nose nearly touching her temple. Why did she seem completely unable to move away from him? He kept doing this recently, invading her space, touching her, hovering. It was his new thing, lately whenever she turned around he was right there, always so close to her. She swallowed around sudden dryness, only half aware of what she was saying. "I was simply dumping out stale coffee from yesterday." Lie. And a bad one at that. The coffee maker to their left was on and still hot.

"Of course you were, my dear." He set the kettle down on the counter, water still running. She realized her hands were hovering awkwardly above the lip of the sink in front of her; she reached out to shut off the water. His hand covered hers on the tap. "I'm making progress, Lisbon, admit it." She had a feeling he wasn't really talking about tea anymore.

"I won't." She turned her head towards him. Bad idea. Their noses brushed. _So close._ His eyes were a riot of blue over quirked lips. The lightheadedness alerted her to the fact that she'd stopped breathing in reaction to their new proximity.

She inhaled a jagged breath. He swayed forward, like he was the air she sought. His lips brushed over hers. Once. Twice. And stayed, pressed against hers, warm and so, so soft. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter before her with white knuckles, a tremor skittering through her, leaving a flush of warmth in it's wake. She felt his fingers skating from the corner of her jaw to the jut of her chin, the heat of his tongue on her lower lip. She whimpered at the feeling and felt his smile against her mouth. Oh, hell. She jerked away from him, sucking in air, eyes wide, braced against the counter with one shaking hand.

"That certainly felt like progress to me."

She glanced up at his words. He stood where she'd left him, cheeks pink and eyes dark. His fingers, the ones that had touched her skin so lightly, came up to rest against his lips. Like he couldn't believe what had just happened (she really couldn't either), like he wanted to imprint the feeling of her against his skin. It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen him do.

Oh, damn it. First he had her thinking he was better than coffee and now she was calling him adorable? This was getting to be a problem, even if it was only in her head. How long before she started blurting these thoughts out loud? She'd never live that down. She clenched her eyes shut and shook her head rapidly to dispense the sappy thoughts. That was so unlike her.

Well, so was kissing her consultant…apparently today had a theme.

She opened her eyes to see Jane backing away from her slowly. He looked...different...than he had a moment ago. Guarded, upset, but what...why? Her brain was working much too slowly, still fogged from that kiss. The kiss, was that it? Maybe he was feeling like he'd betrayed his family? No, that wasn't it, he couldn't be feeling guilty; he'd taken his wedding ring off months ago... Why wouldn't he look at her? All of this was his fault anyways, he was the one who kept invading her space, and doing all the touching, and making allusions to their relationship (what _was_ their relationship exactly?), and kissing her in the middle of the CBI. One minute he'd been talking about progress (not the kind having anything to do with coffee or tea) and the next... She replayed the last few moments, struggling to figure out what had caused him to withdraw from her so completely. He'd mentioned progress, and then she'd thought he was adorable, and then...

Oh. _Oh. _He'd mentioned progress and she had shaken her head. No. But that wasn't what she'd meant at all. She'd been shaking her head at herself, not him. It wasn't a rebuke or a denial, it was...it was _everything_.

"No. Jane, that's not what I—"

"It's fine, Lisbon. Don't worry about—" She cut him off quickly. She didn't want to hear his attempt at glibly renouncing what had just happened. Especially since neither one of them actually wanted that.

"You know, for someone who claims to be the smartest person in every room, you're being really stupid right now." She closed the distance between them, fingers winding in the lapels of his jacket. He still wasn't meeting her eyes. This avoidance was worse than that look he sometimes got when he was lying about something—wide faux innocent eyes meeting hers head on, nothing reflected in their depths. "Jane—" She couldn't believe she was going to do this right here, in the break room of the CBI, where agents were going to be showing up for work any minute. "Jane, I—"

She couldn't say it, she couldn't. But if he'd just look at her, he would _see. _She knew it was written in her eyes, scrawled all across her face. "Jane, look at me. Please, Patrick." She hadn't used his first name since that day on the beach in Malibu. The sound of it now worked, startled him into meeting her eyes.


	6. He Holds Tight

**A/N: Okay guys, this is the last chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed, you guys are all AMAZING! I had a blast writing this, hope you enjoy the last installment! **

"_There've been too many times when I've drowned you with these perfect lines_

_And you've heard me say that I can cure you._

_This morning I woke up with this overwhelming fear of love_

_And I'm not sure if I can resurrect you._

_Now, I'm walking up to you so slowly,_

_It's about time."_

* * *

><p><strong>May 2013<strong>

He knew how he affected her. He was sure of that. Had memorized the way she held her breath when he got close. The way she exhaled audibly every time he touched her, the way her eyes darkened from clover to evergreen when he said her name. He was sure of her reactions, but unsure of her. And, oh, how he wanted her, how he craved her-felt things he never thought he'd feel again, especially not so soon.

A year. Only one year since he'd asked her to take his revenge from him. Those rare moments in the past when he'd contemplated a life after Red John, he'd envisioned a solitary existence, a need to distance himself from any reminders of his past life. He'd expected to need time to grieve on his own for all he had lost. Expected that, although he'd told Lisbon to take the shot, he would resent her for it afterwards.

But that day on the beach—sitting in the shadow of the house that was a monument to his tragedy—he hadn't resented her, hadn't been angry with her unannounced presence. No. He had craved it, craved her. Needed her strength—her tenacious quest to save him, from Red John, from his past, from his ghosts...from himself. She was stable ground, a bastion of strength, and he needed her more than ever. Time passed and he started to mend; he'd always known she had the power to heal him if only he'd let her.

And now he stood before her, afraid to look at her. He couldn't meet her eyes. He always saw so much in them-too much. He was afraid, so afraid to look into her eyes and see the fear, the rejection, the regret. He couldn't bear to watch the walls go up in her eyes, fortified around her heart, stronger and more staunchly guarded than ever in the wake of his moment of weakness. He didn't want to hear her tell him that they shouldn't, that it wasn't like that with them, that it couldn't be. Because they should, and it was, and it could.

By the time he'd figured out the truth of his feelings for her, by the time he'd realized that gratitude had shifted to desire, and friendship to... Well, it was too late to stop it, even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't. Why should he? She was Lisbon and he was Jane. One without the other sounded...wrong.

It was wrong. She belonged to him, had for quite some time, he knew that. And he belonged to her—hadn't noticed the transition until it was complete. She'd been stealing his soul back from the darkness piece by piece over the years—piecing it back together—guarding it, nurturing it with her own. They belonged to each other. He knew it. But did she?

And this was why he couldn't bring himself to look at her. She'd fought him for so long, fought _for_ him; now he needed her to fight with him. For them. For everything they already were, for everything they could be, and if she was going to pretend like—

"Please, Patrick."

It wasn't a conscious decision to look at her, but when she said his name that way, she commanded the attention of every part of him. He met her gaze.

Oh. _Oh. _The world seemed to coalesce until it was just a bubble containing the two of them as he looked into her eyes. No fear, no rejection, no regret. And no walls. Her eyes were a clear emerald, open, light, and so deep.

"Teresa." His hands came up to frame her face, to hold her to him, to keep their eyes locked. He hadn't wanted to look and now he couldn't stop. Warmth, desire, _trust. _Love. Everything they could be, everything _she wanted _them to be, was brimming in her eyes. Overwhelming. She was so much, too much...everything. He leaned his forehead against hers, noses brushing, eyes falling shut. He felt her hands tighten on his jacket, her body crowd closer to his. "I need you." It didn't even sound like his voice, low, pleading, vulnerable...honest. Her lips touched the corner of his mouth.

"You've got me." He felt her words form on his skin, caught their sound with his lips. She pulled back just enough so that their eyes could meet, and grinned at him.

"I think this is enough progress for one morning."

"Oh, I disagree, Teresa." He watched her eyes darken to evergreen at the sound of her name. "It's not nearly enough." One of her hands rose from his lapels to cover his mouth.

"It's definitely enough progress for the break room of the CBI."

Her head jerked towards the backdrop of the bullpen behind them. He could hear the distant ping of the elevator announcing the immanent arrival of their co-workers. He curled his fingers around her wrist and freed his mouth.

"Hmm." He kissed her fingertips. "I think I'll spend today on your couch."

"Jane, you've spent _every_ day on my couch for the past two months." She broke away from him, eyes rolling, but smile still in place; she took a step toward her office. His fingers still held her wrist and he used the connection to pull her back to him, just for a moment, loved the fact that she allowed him this. If she wanted out of his arms he'd never be able to hold her there.

"I was thinking that maybe you would spend today on your couch with me." He forestalled her inevitable protest with a brush of his lips, felt her silent laughter vibrating through the kiss until she broke it a moment later, mock frown firmly in place.

"Don't push it, Jane."

"Oh, but you know me, Lisbon—give me an inch, and I'll take a mile." He kissed her again, elated that she was still letting him despite the encroaching chatter of their arriving colleagues. She nipped at his lip, a quick, sharp prick of her teeth, and he pulled away, smoothed his tongue over the sting. He tried hard not to laugh at the way her serious expression kept slipping.

"I mean it, Jane, say you'll behave—"

"I won't." He saw her try to restrain her grin as he threw her own words back at her. He wanted to taste her smile. And turnabout was fair play. He kissed her again, slow, soft...waited until she relaxed in his arms...scrapped his teeth along her lower lip, laved with his tongue. She whimpered again, that same needy sound she'd made the first time he kissed her. He smiled against her mouth.


End file.
